


Before and After

by talesofsuspense



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, but only mentioned in brief flashes, i can relate, this is essentially him waxing poetic about steve rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 14:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16934958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofsuspense/pseuds/talesofsuspense
Summary: Before there hadn’t been a moment Steve was alone. Naturally, that mean that Bucky never was either.





	Before and After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [howlingbuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlingbuck/gifts).



> hello here's my first ever stevebucky fic and probably? maybe? my last. we'll see. it's a short little thing, but it's my first time, be gentle.
> 
> i wrote this entirely for my friend erin, who i adore. merry early christmas, i hope you like this!
> 
> (i didn't have anyone look this over for grammar issues so... y'know)

_Before_ there hadn’t been a moment Steve was alone. Naturally, that mean that Bucky never was either. It was never a conscious decision on Bucky’s part, he had just liked being with Steve, had wanted to spend all his time with him.  
  
In the earliest of times it had been large groups of angry and bitter kids, shoving Steve and pulling at his book bags while he stood, defiant and proud, barely holding his ground until Bucky stepped in, raising his fists alongside him, daring anyone to try anything. Afterwards Steve would look at him with his bright blue eyes and say, “you know I can handle myself.” Bucky never bothered pointing out just what that statement was -- a blatant lie -- and instead just passed him half of his sandwich and said, “I know.”  
  
Other times it had been at the doctors. They prodded Steve with needles, their fingers, swabs of cotton. Sometimes they’d tip his head back gently when he was too weak to do it himself, coaxing some medicine so disgusting down his throat that he gagged and grimaced while his mother pet his hand and made soft soothing noises in his ear and Bucky told him he could handle this, that he was the toughest guy he knew. It wasn’t even a lie. Bucky hated those days most, though, because Steve smiled a little less, his eyes seemingly a duller blue, and his lungs always sounded so fragile that Bucky worried hugging him was too much. Steve would’ve punched him if Bucky had ever told him that.  
  
There were times where it was just Steve and Bucky. And Bucky had always loved those times, even though he felt a little guilty about it since he had loved Sarah with his whole heart too. Still, some of Bucky’s fondest memories were the quick moments on the fire escape where he helped Steve shove newspapers in his shoes in a desperate attempt to gain an inch or two. He had enjoyed every time he and Steve had burrowed under some blankets on Steve’s too-small twin size mattress in the middle of a frigid New York winter and made up stories to pass the time before Sarah came home to make dinner. Even the memories of rubbing circles on Steve’s back, feeling each bone in his spine as he handed him his inhaler were something Bucky treasured; even as he sat wondering why Steve had to go through that and wished he could take some of that pain away.  
  
His favorite times, though, had always been during the Summer. The worst of the pollen was behind in the Spring and Steve was able to catch breaks from his allergies. They’d run down to the nearest park and lie together in the grass, letting the sun wash over them in a warm, comforting blanket. Steve would smile at him, blue eyes shining, genuine and happy, and Bucky would smile back, full of just as much love-- if not more. Bucky had always wondered what it would be like to kiss Steve in moments like that. When he was slightly golden in the sunlight, when he looked truly happy. He kept it to himself though, the panic that coursed through his veins enough to dissuade him from actually trying anything. Bucky hadn’t ever been stupid, he heard what people whispered all throughout school back then. Instead, he would just lean back onto his elbows and watch as Steve pulled out his sketchbook. Sometimes Steve demanded Bucky posed for him (which Bucky obliged, pretending to find it annoying, but they both were always aware he loved it) and other times he took inspiration from everyone else around them, from the trees and flowers.

 

***

 

That was  _before_ , though. After, well after was complicated. Because there was Steve’s survivor’s guilt, and Steve being frozen, and that little thing where HYDRA tried turning Bucky into a weapon and succeeded. And then Bucky tried to kill Steve at least twice and almost succeeded. You know, small stuff like that. It is, Bucky thinks as he looks over at Steve on the opposite end of the couch, a good thing that Steve is the most stubborn person he has ever known. A  _great_ thing that Steve fought for him, that he dragged him back here to this not-so-little place that he’s called home and forced Bucky to call it home too.

 

So now, in this  _after_ period, Bucky has been trying to make up for lost time. For all the time Steve spent alone, including the 70 years on ice. Because it’s not fair, to either of them. Steve doesn’t protest either. He goes willingly when Bucky sits next to him at movie nights and rests his head on his shoulder. He puts his feet on Bucky’s lap when he’s scrolling through his tablet reading the news because despite what everyone might think, Steve does appreciate the new technology. He invites Bucky on his morning jogs, adds him into his training routine with Nat and Sam like it’s no big thing. It really isn’t, Bucky supposes. They’ve always fit neatly into each other’s lives, like there was a space carved out for the other for the past several decades. And isn’t that something? That after everything that pulled them apart and forced them back together in the worst possible ways, they still managed to find their way to a happy medium. It’s almost like the before, but it might actually be better.

 

It might be better because the world has moved forward in the best ways, because Steve isn’t sick and fragile anymore, because Steve has this new family who have welcomed Bucky with open arms, because anyone can love anyone without it having to be a burning secret anymore. It’s all great because Bucky still wants what he wanted in the forties when he knew better than to do anything. He wants it so bad he can taste it. He wants it when Steve smiles at him, batter smeared on his cheek and his apron wrapped snugly around him. He wants it when Steve’s hair is sticking up in every other direction on the mornings he lets himself sleep in. He wants it when Steve cheats at every video game they play, like the asshole he is. He wants it when Steve laughs at Sam and Bucky bickering with each other like they’re twelve. He wants it when Steve shakes his head with a fond smile when Bucky agrees to Tony asking for  _one more try_ at arm wrestling him. He wants it when Steve says “goodnight, Buck” all softly and with a sleepy smile before ending the video call from an ocean away. He wants it  _so_ damn badly when he sits next to Steve in the park and Steve’s sketching and the sun is catching in his blonde hair and on his face, making his blue eyes sparkle when he looks up and says, “Pose for me, Buck.”

 

He doesn’t have to want for nothing though. Steve gives him everything he wants and more. He gives it to him in the good morning kisses he presses all over his face every Monday when it’s five in the goddamn morning and all Bucky can do is pull one of his pillows out from under his arm and try to smack Steve with it. He gives it to him late at night when they’re both shivering and can’t sleep because the nightmares are keeping them awake so Steve tells Bucky to hold on tight and drives them down to one of the late-night diners where they share fries and talk about everything but the ice, the pain. He gives it to him after they’re both forced to watch  _Titanic_ and he won’t stop making  _let me draw you like one of my French girls_ jokes when they’re lying in bed together while Steve still has enough energy for a sketch or two. Bucky always agrees, and if Steve gets very little drawing done on those nights, well, Bucky can’t be solely to blame.

 

Bucky still can’t believe he’s this lucky. Though it’s not really luck. It’s decades of only having each other to rely on, of years spent learning every weakness about each other, of annoying each other but getting over it because that just made them closer, of believing in the other even when they didn’t believe in themselves. It’s years of trauma that they endured apart, it’s the knowledge that Steve never stopped thinking of him, never stopped looking for him when he knew he was back,  _despite_ knowing he was back, really, because Bucky wasn’t himself then. It’s the knowledge that it was Steve, and only Steve, who could bring Bucky back to himself, let him begin to heal and feel like a person again instead of a weapon. Bucky’s never been one to believe in soulmates, but if they exist then his has to be Steve. Steve with his blinding smiles, floppy blonde hair, kindness that knows no bounds, and his stubborn streak that frustrated Bucky to no end some days.

 

Steve’s still sitting at the opposite end of the couch now and Bucky won’t stand for it, not when he’s going through all the emotions of a fool in love. He stretches his left leg out, poking at Steve’s thigh until he looks over and then makes a motion for him to slide over. Steve does, grinning and rolling his eyes, like Bucky is the most absurd person ever. Bucky just grins back and wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, tugging him closer. He lets himself duck his head into the crook of Steve’s neck, his hair tickling his cheek. He smells like coffee and frosting from the cinnamon rolls they made the team for breakfast. Bucky loves him, a lot. So he tells him, “I love you, Steve.”

 

He lets Steve tip his head back and to the side so he can whisper it back to Bucky before pressing their lips together, soft, but with so much passion between them Bucky feel like his heart might burst out of his chest. Ironic if Steve Rogers' love was his cause of death. Yeah, he thinks, the after is definitely better.


End file.
